


The Drowning Man

by gryffindorsqueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Qunari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorsqueen/pseuds/gryffindorsqueen
Summary: "As a fish stranded by the tide knows the air or a drowning man knows the sea, so does a mage know magic."Sten doesn't enjoy the quiet days. Honora Amell wants nothing but quiet days. Sten/Amell.
Relationships: Female Amell/Sten, Sten/Female Warden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	The Drowning Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After saying I might start a Stemell series AGES ago, I'm finally back to take the grand total of oneshots up to two. Wow, hold on to your hats.
> 
> This is a KinkMeme fill for the following prompt:
> 
> _"As a fish stranded by the tide knows the air or a drowning man knows the sea, so does a mage know magic"  
>  I don't know about anyone else here, but I absolutely ADORE Sten and his interactions about mages, and I don't see nearly enough Sten/mage!Warden floating around.  
> I may fill this myself, but I would like ANYTHING involving the two of them. Are they at odds, arguing about mages? Is there some lingering tension they need to work out afterwards? Or is the mage understanding of Sten's view, and tries to change it through their own actions and some tender loving care? Does Sten change his opinion of mages after a particularly brutal fight where the Warden kicked ass, or does he appreciate the small things the Warden does with their magic? To you have your own ideas?  
> Anything is fair game - no squicks here!  
> Bonus points if it's a female warden (because being female is a whole other can of worms with Sten), but I'm not too picky either way."_

The Warden was far too trusting, far too generous and far too chatty.

Sten spent the day stomping after her, watching her fritter away her money and time on humans who were mostly useless. And not only did he have to contend with her foolish ways, she had also asked the slippery blonde elf and the older mage to accompany them into the town. He didn’t like being in such a busy place with such inept company. Redcliffe was slowly rebuilding after the darkspawn attack and many of the villagers had rushed to the Warden, eager to thank her for her efforts.

He sneered at them. The Warden had done her duty and he failed to see why that was worthy of congratulation. But congratulate her they did, offering her trinkets and flowers and other pieces of frippery that would only weigh them down. Mercifully, she refused most of them, insisting they keep what little possessions they still had. Despite the kind rejections of their gifts, they kept coming and Sten found himself lingering closer to the Warden than usual. Apparently, he was the only one of their group that remembered there were assassins after her and this mob of adoring peasants would be an excellent place to hide.

He told her so but she waved him off. “Oh, it’ll be fine. Besides, isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I am here on behalf of the Arishok, not to follow you around like some hired bodyguard.”

She just smiled sweetly at him before half disappearing into another crowd, forcing him to rush after her once again. The elf and the mage followed behind slowly as though they were fat nobles enjoying market day. He bristled with annoyance and glared at them over his shoulder.

“You look like thunder, my large friend.” The elf practically purred, weaving between villagers as though he was made of smoke.

“Have we done something to upset you, Sten?” The mage said, at least having the decency to appear slightly concerned.

“Am I the only one who recalls the threat to the Warden’s life? I am sure I cannot be – one of us had a very _active_ role in it.”

The elf didn’t even look embarrassed. “But she is well now, is she not? She is among people who love her.”

“You are...concerned for her?” The mage eyed him with interest and Sten immediately wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I am concerned our mission will not be complete. Without the Warden we are leaderless and therefore directionless.”

His words did nothing to dissuade the mage. In fact, the elf also began peering at him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “But surely that would make little difference to you, no? After all, you are merely here to report your findings back to your Arishok. Are you sure you do not worry for the Warden herself?”

Sten fought the urge to barge past them both and march back to camp alone. “I am merely speaking on this savage country’s behalf: it is folly to consider failing when you are already this far. And when the Qunari come, we would rather fight you than a country full of beasts.”

“Ah.” The mage looked unconvinced. “Of course, Sten.”

“But look! Is that an assassin there? One of my fellow Crows perhaps?”

Sten pulled his borrowed sword from its scabbard before he had fully turned around. His eyes found the Warden immediately and he had only made two steps toward her when he heard a titter behind him. The elf was laughing at him and the mage was barely concealing her amusement.

Hot shame coursed through him as he hilted his blade. “You are fools!” He barked. “Next time I shall not be so quick to believe you and you shall find steel in your throat instead of lies.”

“Sten?” The Warden had made her way back through the crowd with concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I will not remain here to be mocked. Stay here with your elf and your mage if you wish – it is your life to gamble with.” And with that, he cut through the crowd and stalked back to camp.

* * *

They returned some hours later when dusk had laid a veil over the camp. Sten had already bathed and was cleaning his armour in angry silence. The bard was quietly strumming a lute and the other Warden was stirring a stew bubbling over the fire. The companionable silence was broken when the elf began loudly singing a bawdy ballad from his homeland to the bard’s tune. Infuriatingly, everyone seemed to think it was amusing and the whole camp gathered around to warm themselves before their supper.

The Warden sat opposite him, the fire between them making her pale hair look like sunshine. Their eyes briefly met before he looked away again, focussing on his armour. But he felt her gaze on him still. He continued with his work as his companions began chattering about any small thing that came into their heads.

“I heard the Orlesian fashion may be turning towards smooth skirts now.”

“That seems very unlikely.”

“Don’t they normally have those...big puffy ones?”

“Oh, well observed, Alistair. Nobles will be flocking to you for sartorial advice soon, I have no doubt.”

“Ha ha.”

“Smooth skirts? Excellent if you would like to admire some bottoms at court but very difficult to conceal weapons.”

“Ah, nobles have a good life! All that drink and food and now bottoms at court - s’not fair.”

Sten harrumphed at his armour.

“Problem, Sten?”

The Warden was staring at him again and the whole camp had gone quiet, watching them.

He threw his armour down. “This day has been a waste of time.”

The Warden, usually light-hearted and easygoing, narrowed her eyes. “In what way?”

“You spend the day in the village to be fawned over and applauded when the job is not yet done. And then you return to eat and talk nonsense over the fire as though you need some sort of reward for a hard day.”

Several of their companions cried out in outrage on her behalf. The Warden just stared at him, her face unreadable. Her silence went on a beat too long and, to his surprise, Sten felt his palms sweat slightly.

“I went to the village for supplies. While we were there, I wanted to see how the villagers were coping since the attack. I didn’t know they were going to flock to us like they did but it was good to see how happy they were because of something we did. What we do is for the greater good - for everyone. The nobles, the peasants, the merchants, the craftsfolk – they are all the same to the darkspawn and what we are doing is to save them all. Isn’t that what you say the Qun is all about? Work for the greater good? And I won’t apologise for taking a day off the fighting and the killing. You say you have been born and bred for it, Sten, but the rest of us have not. We are all just people, like those villagers, and we just want our home to be safe again. We’re not machines...sometimes we just want to be happy for a few hours.”

The silence rang louder than a Chantry bell. The fire crackled and popped between them, threatening to rise too high and scald the food. Alistair quickly removed the pot and began quietly serving the stew.

It took a long time for someone to speak.

“I...think it may rain tonight.” Wynne said, peering up at the darkening clouds.

“Yes, you know I think it might.” Alistair spoke with far too much enthusiasm for the subject.

“Then perhaps we should eat and retire to bed early tonight.” Leliana suggested.

“Yes, yes, that sounds sensible.”

Normal conversation resumed as they ate. Sten ate his stew slowly, carefully avoiding the Warden’s eyes. He was unsure how to proceed. Truthfully, he still thought he was right. But he was surprised to find he was uncomfortable at the Warden’s displeasure with him. When they first met, he said whatever he thought without any concern and she had accepted it. She just quietly disagreed with him, sometimes so politely he hadn’t realised their opinions were different until he thought about it later. He wasn’t sure what to do with this new anger.

“I wonder how the Circle is recovering.” The elder mage said, sighing. “I hope they are coping as well as the people of Redcliffe.”

“I am sure they are, my dear Wynne...but perhaps they are struggling without your wonderful...presence.”

“Oh, Zevran, you are dreadful!”

“Alas, I cannot help it! I was born this way! Some are born with magic, others with deadly charm...ah, but imagine a being with both. Two gifts in one body.”

The Warden spoke then. “You think magic is a gift, Zevran?”

“Of course!” The elf cried, almost spilling his stew in his excitement. “Magic is a wonderful thing to behold. Those born with it suffer, unnecessarily, but they are blessed with a true gift: natural power.”

“Thank you.” The Warden said quietly, sounding almost moved.

“We were told that it’s dangerous but I think it’s mostly because mages don’t get taught properly.” Alistair said between mouthfuls of food. “The Circle’s hardly the most nurturing environment.”

“True.” The Warden said. Then she paused, set her spoon down in her bowl and asked, “Sten, why do the qunari sew their mages’ mouths shut?”

A collective groan came from everyone around the fire.

“Dear, this will only upset you.” Wynne said softly, placing a hand on the Warden’s arm.

Sten stared her down across the campfire. She was watching him with those bright blue eyes, waiting calmly for a response. But there was tension in her jaw and her knuckles had turned white around her bowl. He barely resisted the urge to fling his own supper into the flames.

“ _Parshaara_ , woman! We have already spoken on this!”

“But that was so long ago and the details are fuzzy. Wasn’t it something about mages being no better than beasts?”

“I do not wish to speak about this with you!” He threw down his bowl, seized his sword and stalked off towards the trees.

His heart pumped hot blood to his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the Warden’s footsteps hurrying along behind his.

“Leave me!” He bellowed to her without looking behind him.

He weaved through the trees, hoping to shake her off. He knew what was coming and he knew he didn’t want to answer her question. He had no desire to think about it. But still, she followed.

“Come now, Sten! You told me of qunari mages with such pride when we first met!”

“I did not!” He swung his sword at the nearest tree, splitting the bark with a tremendous crack.

“You used to be fine talking about it.” She persisted, following him around the tree. “But now you don’t want to. Why?”

“Leave me, woman!” He swung his sword again.

“If I went to your homeland, they would sew my mouth shut.”

His sword missed its mark and scuffed the ground. He stood still for a moment, panting and sweating even in the cold night air. She leaned against the battered tree trunk and her face softened into the mage he recognised. “They would, wouldn’t they?”

“I...do not know.”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “We have known each other for quite a while now, Sten.”

“Yes.” He was unsure where the conversation was going but he doubted it would be somewhere he found comfortable.

“Do you think they would be right to sew my mouth? Do you think I am little more than a beast – untrustworthy and pitiful?”

“...no.” The image of her collared and silenced made him feel ill. To not hear her laughter, to not see the delicate dip above her collarbone, to not see the optimistic light in her eyes...

 _Re-education._ The thought slogged into him like a punch to the gut. It was what awaited him if he continued down this path. He gripped the sword in his hand and remembered his duty. But then she placed her hand on his bicep and gazed up at him with those endless blue eyes.

“Thank you, Sten. I know that must be difficult for you to say.”

He should have shaken her off but he didn’t.

“You are...worthy of your praise, Warden. Even if I do not understand your methods.”

“I just need you to trust me.” She said, squeezing his arm a little. “I know you think we should just tackle the archdemon now but this quest is more than that. It may take us to some unexpected places. And we may even have the occasional quiet day like today. It’s important that we enjoy them – they may be the last we ever have.”

“I am sure they will not be.” He found himself saying.

“Optimism? You are getting used to us, Sten.”

Before he could say anything, an arrow buried itself into the tree between them. Both of them whipped around, eyes desperate in the dark. Before he could ask, the Warden summoned a glowing orb from nothing and sent it soaring a few feet above them, lighting the whole area. For a moment, he could only hear their breathing.

Then five men burst into the clearing and they sprang into action.

The first man raced forwards and the Warden immediately cast a barrier behind him, keeping the other four away. They started hammering on it, making her wince a little. Sten met the man head on, hoping to rush through the fight and help the Warden but he was quicker on his feet than he expected.

He whirled around Sten with two daggers and all the qunari could do was quickly deflect each blow with his sword. Perhaps the elf was correct in his earlier jest – they may be some of his fellow Crows. After the initial flurry of attacks, Sten settled into the pace somewhat. The assassin liked to step a certain way, allowing Sten to start pre-empting his next move. On his next strike, he was there to meet him and on the next, he was able to knock one of the daggers out of his hand.

With one final swing, the man’s head left his body.

Satisfied, he turned to assist the Warden with the remaining assassins but found he couldn’t move. He looked down to see the other dagger buried to the hilt in his abdomen and blinked several times. He recalled, far too late, his armour sat warming itself by the campfire.

He stumbled back, falling over a tree root.

The Warden saw him then and cried out. “Sten?!”

He clutched at his stomach but it was bleeding too profusely for him to comprehend. He had moments left, maybe a minute or two if could calm his thundering heart. But he could not. Panic set in – panic that his mission wasn’t complete, panic that he was to die without finding his sword, panic that he was leaving the Warden alone...

Then the whole clearing lit up and the Warden screamed. Lightning stronger and brighter than he had ever seen ripped through the night air from one assassin to the next, frying them in their armour. One by one they fell and Sten watched, choking on his own blood, thinking he would at least die witnessing one of the most remarkable displays of power he had ever seen.

Sten was surprised when she left one alive. Instead of killing him, she seized him by his steel chestpiece and hauled him back towards Sten. The assassin wept and begged for his life even as the Warden threw him to the ground. She paid him no mind as she was too busy sobbing herself, clutching at Sten’s useless shirt with shaking hands.

“Can you hear me?”

He nodded as best as he could. If he was to die in a foreign land by an assassin’s blade, let the last words he heard be hers.

“I don’t know if this will work...” She was determined, even with her face wet with tears. She pulled the dagger out of his stomach and took hold of his hand. Through the pain, he wondered if she would try and heal him. He was too far gone, she must have known that...

But then she grabbed the last assassin’s arm, gripping tightly as he had been trying to crawl away unnoticed. For a moment, Sten thought she was just watching him as he died because she was so still and silent. But then he felt a sensation in his stomach. It was hot, almost like a fever, but there was movement too. His flesh felt like it was bubbling and twisting around his wound. He heard a shout and he thought it was his own. But then he saw the assassin, frozen where she held him, and his face was...Sten wasn’t quite sure what it was. He looked like he was decaying, like his flesh was wasting away and his skin was shrivelling tight to his skull. His eyes went blank, then withered away and his bones began to weaken and crack.

Sten looked back at the Warden and saw her beam. “It’s working!” She said, but her voice was soft, as though she was far away. Her face was still wet with tears but there was blood now, coming from her nose and even her eyes.

He seized her in terror. “Stop now! I am well...see, Warden? I am well, I am well!”

She let go of the assassin but held on to Sten. “You are well.” She said, before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Sten caught her just before she hit the ground and the orb of light she had summoned above them died. He scrambled to his feet with the Warden in his arms. He stepped over the destroyed remains of the assassin and rushed through the trees back to camp.

Even in his haste, he carried her with astonishing delicacy, like he hardly thought himself worthy of touching her.

“Fear not, Warden.” He found himself saying to her unconscious form. “I have you.”

Their camp lit up in the distance and he could see the remains of a battle. They had obviously had their own assassins to deal with but they were all present and unharmed.

“Help!” He bellowed to them once they were in earshot. “The Warden is injured! HELP!”

They rushed her inside her tent and Sten lay the Warden down on her bedroll. Wynne was beside her immediately, brushing back her golden hair. Her hand faltered when she saw the blood. She turned to Sten with wide eyes.

“What did she do?”

“I...do not know.” He gestured awkwardly to his torn, bloodied shirt and touched where the dagger had been inside him. “I was nearly dead and then...it looked like she took another’s life to save mine.”

Thankfully, the mage seemed to understand. “Then she has overextended herself as I thought. There is little I can do for her.” She noticed Sten’s expression and quickly added, “She will recover. But she will need plenty of rest and at least one dose of lyrium when she wakes.”

He nodded and hovered next to the unconscious Warden.

“I will clean her face - ”

“I will do it.” Sten said abruptly.

She nodded, handing him a bowl of water and some cloth. She turned to leave but halted in the doorway.

“The spell she performed...it is not easy. And it is not without great personal risk.” Her eyes flickered between the qunari and the Warden. “She must have been very desperate to do it.”

Sten spent the night next to the Warden, waiting for her eyes to open, waiting for the curl of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. Nothing came. She remained motionless, flat on her back, her chest steadily rising and falling. He worried for hours, knowing if anything happened to her it was his fault. He should have worn his armour, he should have been able to protect her. Instead, he was foolish and she paid the price for him.

He lay down next to her, head propped up only on his arms. He had given her all the pillows. His eyes traced the line of her profile over and over again until finally, when dawn had nearly arrived, his heavy eyes shut.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of birds, to soft morning light and a pair of blue eyes on him.

“Good morning.” Her voice sounded like it hadn’t been used for weeks but she was smiling, dopey with sleep and body exhaustion.

He sat up quickly, feeling like he had somehow been caught red-handed. “You are awake.”

She laughed quietly. “Yes, it appears so.” She struggled to sit up but managed it without his help. He watched, dumb with surprise and relief, as she reached forward and pulled aside the tent flap. “It is a beautiful morning.”

“It is.” He said, without looking outside.

“I want to go for a walk.”

“Warden, you should not. The mage said you would need to rest and take a lyrium draught.”

“I will do that when I come back.” She clambered to her feet and he reached out to steady her, his large hand resting, just for a moment, on her soft hip. She was looking outside as though she had never seen anything beyond this tent. “Come with me?”

“It is the least I can do.” He said and meant it.

She smiled and took his arm, elegant hand tucked against his bicep as they stepped outside. Alistair was already up, staring blearily at the dying fire. He jumped to his feet when he saw them.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” He rushed forward and embraced the Warden clumsily, making her stumble slightly.

“Take care!” Sten growled and he apologised profusely.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” The Warden waved it off, smiling at Alistair warmly. “We are going for a walk.”

“Are you sure? Wynne said you’d need rest - ”

“And a lyrium draught, yes. I won’t go far. And Sten will be with me, so nothing bad can happen.”

 _It did last night_ , Sten thought and suspected Alistair thought the same. But neither of them argued with their leader.

* * *

Dog came with them too, snuffling along the path in front of them with interest.

Sten walked slowly, the Warden close at his side with her arm linked through his. He secretly delighted in making her laugh when he threw sticks for Dog, the mabari scurrying after them with endless enthusiasm.

They came to a fallen tree and she gently led them to it, sitting down carefully. Dog led on the grass in front of them, merrily ripping apart the sticks he had so bravely retrieved. The birds sang sweet songs for their mates high in the trees above them as the sun slowly warmed the cold wood, waking up all the creatures with a gentle whisper.

Sten sighed and saw his breath cloud the air in front of his face.

The Qun said that duty was peace. To know your place in the world was to have true understanding of the self and that was the only way to be at peace. He did not understand how Southerners ever thought they were at peace. They were fools to think they could have positions and power they were not born for. The idea of not understanding your role in society made Sten uncomfortable.

And yet...

The Warden had been born to an upper class family but here she was, an outcast leading a band of people thrown together by circumstance. She was a woman and a mage. But still she led them.

“I have not thanked you for saving my life.”

He felt her eyes on his face. “No, you have not.”

He paused, considering his words but she laughed before he could speak. “Was that meant to be a thank you? You know, you don’t have to say it. I suppose it must be hard for you, being saved by a mage – a female mage too. In your country the spell I cast would probably - ”

“Thank you, Warden.”

She smiled and her hand, next to his on the tree trunk, briefly touched his. “You are welcome, Sten.”

They fell into comfortable silence again. If duty truly was peace, Sten did not understand the feeling inside him now. He did not understand the calm he felt when the Warden smiled at him, the warmth her brief touches left on his skin, his desire to put his arm around her waist whenever she dozed in front of the fire. He did feel at peace with her. Even if she infuriated him by being too generous, too trusting, too uncaring of her own safety. Moments like these where they sat together, bodies almost touching, made him think about life outside the Qun.

The Warden shifted next to him, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm moved behind her, almost settling around her waist, but he let it drop before he touched her. He swallowed and saw in the distance that their companions were all gathering around the fire for breakfast.

“We should return to camp, Honora.”

He felt her smile against his arm. He knew why and hoped she would not bring it up.

“Just a little longer.”

So they sat together among the trees and the birds and, for a while, Sten forgot about duty.


End file.
